


Weed

by Mayalaen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crying, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Gen, Marijuana, No Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Pre-Series, Spanking, Underage Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayalaen/pseuds/Mayalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets in trouble and decides running away from home is a better option than facing the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weed

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic that’s been sitting in my folder for a long time. I wrote this around Season 2, after watching a lot of the interactions between John and his boys. This is another fic I was hoping would get a better name over the years, but nothing else came :D

Dean hitched his backpack up further on his left shoulder, then turned as he heard another vehicle on the long stretch of highway he was currently walking the shoulder of. Dean’s stomach clenched and he quickly faced forward again.

“Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Dean begged as he tried to get his breathing under control.

Dean’s hopes were dashed as the police cruiser slowed next to him, and the passenger side window rolled down. Dean realized he was shaking, but he hoped the sheriff wouldn’t notice. He turned toward the man and put on a charming smile.

“Hello, there, son,” the man said with a heavy southern drawl.

“Hi, Sheriff Wright,” Dean said, hoping his voice stayed steady. The gentle wind blew his hair into his eyes, and Dean ran his right hand through his hair to push it back.

“You’re that Daniels boy that has been hanging around with my son of late, aren’t I right?” the sheriff asked conversationally.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, his stomach nearly rebelling on the spot. He didn’t think the sheriff would appreciate vomit in his cruiser. He had to stay calm. Maybe the sheriff didn’t even know why Dean had been hanging around with Josh, the sheriff’s only child.

“You wouldn't be running away from home, now, would you, son?” the sheriff asked with a bit of a frown.

Dean squirmed where he stood. There was no explanation he could give that would get him out of this one. His mouth opened a couple of times, but nothing came out.

“How about you show me your identification?” the man asked, surprisingly still sounding calm, not mad at all.

This was it. He was done for. God, but Dad was going to kill him for sure. Dean reached into his back pocket with nerveless fingers, pulled out his wallet. He handed the sheriff his school ID.

The sheriff took it from Dean, studied it for a moment, then grunted. “You seem to be a few months shy of eighteen. Does your daddy know where you are?” the man asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dean bit his bottom lip. He had nothing to say that would get him out of this. “No, sir,” Dean said, defeated tone to his voice, shoulders slumping.

The sheriff handed Dean’s identification card back to him. “Why don’t you and I take a ride down to the station,” the sheriff said instead of asked.

Dean felt the backs of his eyes prickle, but he bit down on his tongue. There was no way he was going to cry over this or in front of the sheriff. “Yes, sir,” Dean said as the sheriff reached over and opened the passenger door for Dean.

Dean got in, then put his backpack between his feet where it would be safe. The sheriff looked over his shoulder for traffic, then made a U-turn back toward the small town John had insisted on staying in for a while.

Dean had only made it a few miles from the town when the sheriff had spotted him, so it wouldn’t take long for them to get to the station.

“You were at our house just last Friday night, weren’t you, Dean?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt. He looked down at the rip in his left jeans-clad leg. It wasn’t very big, but it was easier looking at it than it was looking at either the sheriff or where they were headed.

“You should come over some time for dinner. My wife’s a wonderful cook, and she makes the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had,” the man said with a smile.

Dean wondered why the man wasn’t yelling at him about what Dean had been up to. It was unnerving him a little that the man was being so nice to him.

“Your daddy works down at the repair shop on seventh street, doesn’t he?” the sheriff asked him.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to calm down. “Yes, sir,” he replied, although it sounded a bit tight in his head.

The man was quiet for a moment, then said, “When Josh was about eight years old, he tried to run away. His grandma had just died, my wife and I weren’t talking to each other, let alone the boy. He got overwhelmed with everything and thought running away was the best answer, granted he only made it a few blocks away before one of the neighbors caught up with him and his suitcase.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut, looked back down at the stupid tear in his jeans, tried not to cry like a big baby.

“Sometimes when things happen that shake up a family, they need to learn to work with each other instead of going off and dealing with things on their own,” the sheriff said as nonchalantly as one could say something like that.

The man obviously didn’t know why Dean had been running away, and so Dean relaxed a bit. He’d still be in deep trouble with his father, but at least the sheriff wouldn’t have his hide as well.

The sheriff pulled the car to a stop outside the small police station and got out. He stood at the front of the car and waited while Dean slowly maneuvered himself out of the car to follow the man.

The sheriff opened the front door for Dean, and Dean preceded the man into the station. He should have never gotten out of bed. This was just a bad day all around.

“Go ahead and have a seat right there,” the sheriff said as he gestured to a chair in front of a large desk. The sheriff sat down behind the desk as Dean took his seat, the backpack getting its place between Dean’s feet once more. The sheriff slid a piece of paper with a pencil on top of it toward Dean. “Go ahead and give me the number to where your daddy works,” he said with a kind smile.

“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered as he picked up the pencil with shaky fingers. When he was done, he pushed the paper and pencil back across the desk to the sheriff. Dean wrapped his arms around his stomach, which was hurting badly enough he still wondered if he was going to throw up.

The sheriff let out a sigh. Dean looked up, and the sheriff gave him a reassuring smile. “Everything’s going to be okay, Dean,” the man told him.

Dean smiled at the man, but figured it turned out as more of a grimace. Dean watched as the sheriff picked up the phone and dialed.

“May I speak with John Daniels?” the sheriff requested into the phone.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut again as he felt his breathing get shallow. He tried to keep it under control, but he really was scared. The whole situation was fucked up. Not only was he in trouble, but he knew John would be disappointed in him as well.

Dean managed to keep from hyperventilating, although he didn’t know how, and started to pick at the rip in his jeans while the sheriff finished the call and started to shuffle papers around on his desk.

It wasn’t until then that Dean realized his missed what the sheriff had told his dad. He wondered just how pissed John would be when he got to the station. Dean shivered in his seat, then brought his feet closer together to hold the backpack tighter between his legs.

From where they were sitting, they had a clear view of the front door. When John came through the door, Dean’s breath hitched.

The sheriff stood. “Come on, Dean,” he said as he gestured with his hands for Dean to get up.

This time Dean let the sheriff go first. He peeked over the sheriff’s left shoulder at his father as he slung his backpack over his left shoulder. John was still in his work shirt and pants. There were a few spots of oil on his shirt. John looked worried, not mad, which was good in Dean’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” John turned concerned eyes on Dean.

“Y-yes, sir,” Dean managed to say loud enough for his father to hear.

The sheriff took Dean’s right arm in a gentle grip, pulled Dean to stand in front of him. Dean really didn’t want to be handed off to John yet. He didn’t know if John knew why he was here yet or not.

“I do apologize for the cryptic phone call, but I thought it would be best you heard in person,” the sheriff said as Dean turned so that he was facing both men.

“No problem, Sheriff,” John said as he looked Dean over from head to toe, then gave his attention to the sheriff.

“I found your boy hitchhiking a few miles outside of town,” the sheriff said carefully.

The puzzled look on John’s face made Dean’s stomach clench. His dad had no clue, but he would know a lot more by the end of the day. It would be a lot more than he wanted to know.

“Now I’m not going to pry, and I’m certainly not going to tell you how this should be handled, but I am going to tell both you and Dean that this could have easily landed him in juvenile,” the sheriff warned.

Dean’s head snapped up, his wide eyes going to the sheriff’s. Dean felt that familiar prickly feeling at the backs of his eyes again, but didn’t know if he would be able to stop the tears this time.

The sheriff held a hand up to stop any comments from either Dean or John. “I just wanted you two to know how serious this is, and that you’re not going to get a second chance at this. Is that understood?” the sheriff asked as he looked down at Dean.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, still wide eyed.

“I can assure you this won’t be happening again, sheriff,” John said as he threw a stern look at Dean.

“All right, then, I don’t want to ever see you in here again,” the sheriff said as he raised an eyebrow at Dean.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

The sheriff then opened the front door and let John and Dean out. Dean went straight to the passenger side of their car and slipped into the seat. The car jostled as John got in and closed his door.

The ride back to the small apartment just off the main street was torture. Dean fingered the strap of his backpack as he watched the scenery go by. John didn’t say anything, and Dean wasn’t about to break the silence.

“Go to your room. I’ll be up in a minute,” John said as they walked through the front door.

Dean hurried up the stairs, dumped his backpack next to the desk in the bedroom, and sat down on his bed. It was then that he heard the phone ring. Dean groaned and flopped back onto the bed, covering his eyes with his hands. His situation just got worse.

Dean couldn’t hear what his father was saying, but could hear the rumble of his voice coming up the stairs. He sat back up and tried not to shiver himself off the bed. Dean heard his father’s footfalls on the stairs and wished he was anywhere but here.

John walked into the bedroom, sat down on Sam’s bed facing Dean. John let out a sigh. “I suppose you know what that phone call was about just now, am I right?” John asked as he looked Dean in the eye.

By the look on John’s face, Dean knew what the call was about. “Yes, sir,” Dean whispered.

“Okay, then, how about you tell me why I just got a call from Rick’s mom in the middle of a school day,” John requested.

Dean’s bottom lip quivered a bit, but he took a deep breath and willed it away. He owed his father the truth. “Rick Woods, Joey Wright, and I got together and smoked pot,” Dean admitted.

John nodded, looked down at the floor, then back up at Dean again. “Was this the first time?” John asked him.

Dean winced. “No, sir,” he answered softly.

John wiped his hands on his work pants. “How many times, Dean?” he asked.

“Th-three times, sir,” Dean said.

“Where did you get it?”

“Rick’s older brother,” Dean replied.

John crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me why you thought this would make a good excuse to run away,” John demanded.

Dean looked down at the stains on his father’s work shirt before looking his father in the eyes again. “Rick’s mom found some pot in his pants today. Rick told me and Joey about it. We knew Rick’s mom would tell, so Joey went home from school to tell his mom.”

“But you didn’t come home to tell me,” John said, looking almost sad.

Dean shook his head. “I knew you’d be disappointed in me,” Dean said, the prickling in his eyes becoming stronger. “I...,” Dean trailed off as he looked down at the floor.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, kiddo,” John encouraged.

Tears finally fell from Dean’s eyes. “I didn’t think you’d trust me with Sam anymore,” Dean whimpered, then bit his quivering bottom lip.

John stood up, then sat down next to Dean. He wrapped his left arm around his son, drew him in so that Dean’s head came to rest on John’s left shoulder. “Running away doesn’t solve anything, baby,” John said softly as he reached up and ran his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Dean said, then sniffed as he leaned into his father’s strong embrace.

“I know you are,” John said as he kissed Dean on the top of his head. “And I have never known you to be anything but completely responsible when it comes to Sammy. You’re not going to lose my trust in you that easily. You’re a good kid, and I know you’d do anything for him,” John said with conviction.

Dean closed his eyes and let his father hold him.

“Now let’s talk about this whole running away thing,” John said, not relinquishing his hold. Dean tensed a bit, but he didn’t try to get away. “What you did was extremely dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself,” Dean said, his voice sounding stronger than it had since this whole thing started.

“You’ve done very well with your training, but you’d be no match for somebody with a weapon,” John countered.

Dean raised his chin a bit. “I had my knife with me,” he said, then instantly regretted that statement as he felt his father stiffen.

“You took your knife with you?” John asked, dangerous tone to his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, a little unsure about it now that he had witnessed John’s reaction.

If anything, John squeezed Dean tighter for a moment before easing off again. “Not only could that have easily been used against you, but can you imagine what would have happened if the sheriff had searched your backpack?” John asked, sounding upset.

Dean’s stomach clenched. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said with a wince.

“From now on, that knife doesn’t leave your bedroom unless it’s an emergency, is that clear?” John asked.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied.

“I think maybe, by training you so hard and letting you get the upper hand as much as I have, I’ve made you a little too sure of yourself, a little overconfident,” John said with a sigh.

Dean’s chest burned inside a little bit at his father’s words. He hadn’t realized John was letting him win sometimes, and it was a blow to his self-confidence.

John reached around behind himself with his right hand, his left going to Dean’s waist. “Okay, I think it’s about time we dealt with this,” John said as he pulled something from his back pocket and brought his right hand into view on his lap.

Dean groaned at the hairbrush in John’s hand. He turned his face into his father’s shoulder. “I’m too old for a spanking,” Dean moaned into the work shirt, not caring that it smelled strongly of oil.

“You know how it goes, kiddo. If you’re under my roof, you go by my rules,” John said as he gently pushed Dean away from him.

Dean looked his father in the eye once again. “Are you mad at me over the whole pot thing?” he asked with a wince.

John let out a sigh. “Let me put it this way. I know that kids experiment, and I also know that it won’t be something that you do again, will it,” John said rather than asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, sir,” Dean replied. Dean felt the tears well up again. “Are you disappointed in me?” he whispered as a tear fell down his left cheek.

John gave Dean a quick squeeze. “No, baby. I may not like some of the thing that you do, but I’m not disappointed in you, and I will always love you no matter what,” John said strongly.

Dean sniffed, then wiped at his face. “Okay,” Dean said, feeling relieved.

“Okay, then, stand up and undo your jeans,” John said.

Dean stood up, but then he balked. “Can’t I keep my jeans on for this?” he very nearly whined.

John looked up at Dean, raised an eyebrow. “Do you need help with following orders?” John asked.

Dean’s hand immediately went to the top button of his jeans. “No, sir,” he said miserably. After he had unzipped, John’s hands went to Dean’s waist, and he pulled both the jeans and shorts down to Dean’s knees. “Dad!” Dean yelped, but didn’t have much more time to be embarrassed as John pulled Dean down over his left thigh. John then trapped Dean’s legs with his right.

Dean felt John’s left hand wrap around his right side, then tug him in close. “I want you to know that I’m always here to talk. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said into the bedspread, feeling the cool air across his ass.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his face into the bedspread. The first hit made him jump with its intensity, but then he calmed himself, forced himself to remain still. Dean soon realized that his father was out to make a point as the smacks came hard and fast.

Dean began to squirm, but his father’s grip on him only tightened, making movement near impossible for him. Dean thought about his reasons for running away. They seemed like good enough reasons at the time. He really had thought he had gone too far this time, done something irredeemable.

Whenever the topic of drugs had come up before, John had been quick to tell the boys how quickly addictive they were and to never even try them. Dean had figured that pot wasn’t so bad. Even Rick had said that, after about a year of smoking the pot his brother had gotten for him, he wasn’t addicted.

Dean let out a sniff as he let himself think of what could have happened had his dad not trusted him with Sam anymore. A few tears leaked out, so he tried to think of something else. That thought hurt too much.

Dad stopped for a moment, then Dean let out a grunt as the hairbrush came into play. Dean worked at staying as still as he could, but it was really starting to hurt. Dean clenched his teeth, trying desperately not to beg. He was seventeen. He should be able to handle this without crying and without begging.

Dean shifted his hips a little, trying to get away from the sting. When that didn’t work, he got up on his elbows, then pressed his forehead against the bedspread and panted.

“Settle down, kiddo,” John admonished without stopping the spanking.

Fuck, but he was never going near pot again ever. “Dad,” Dean said, but it came out as a squeak.

John didn’t reply, and if anything the swats with the hairbrush came even faster. Dean couldn’t help but kick out when his dad concentrated on his sit spot on the right side. It seemed like John would never stop hitting that one fucking spot.

Dean’s back arched. “Dad, it... Ow! Dad, stop! Please stop!” Dean finally begged. He wasn’t crying yet, but it wouldn’t take much more.

When John moved on to the left side, Dean was almost grateful except for the fact that now he knew what to expect from this side. John didn’t disappoint.

“I’m sorry! Ow! Dad, I’m really sorry!” Dean nearly screamed as his voice broke on the last word, and the tears started freely flowing down his face. As the spanking continued, Dean’s cries became louder and turned into sobs.

Finally John stopped, but Dean continued to sob into the bedspread as his father started rubbing Dean’s back with his left hand. Dean relaxed all the muscles that had been tense over the last few minutes and just cried.

After what seemed like forever, John wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him up to a seated position. “Ow!” Dean cried as his ass came into contact with John’s work pants.

John shushed Dean, then scooped up Dean’s legs and positioned Dean so that his sensitized skin was in between John’s legs, his knees and back supported by John’s legs. Then John wrapped his right arm around Dean, pulled him toward his chest, and Dean rested his head on John’s right shoulder.

Dean let his father position him the way he wanted. He didn’t care if it was stupid or childish. He hurt, and it felt good to let his dad hold him. He blushed a little when he realized his pants and shorts were down around his ankles, but as his dad turned and placed a kiss on his forehead, he found he just didn’t care about modesty at the moment.

“I want you to come and talk to me about anything. I don’t care if it’s good or bad. I don’t care what it is. If it’s important to you, I want to know about it. Got it?” John asked.

“Yes, s-sir,” Dean said with an embarrassing hiccup on the second word.

John held Dean until he felt Dean’s head start to fall and his breathing changed. “Okay, kid, let’s get you into bed,” John said as he gently nudged Dean with his shoulder. John reached down and took off Dean’s shoes, then pulled his jeans off and onto the floor.

Dean got off of John’s lap, then pulled his shorts back up while John stood. John pulled the bedspread down and gestured toward the bed. Dean got into bed and let John cover him with the bedspread.

“You get some rest. I’ll have Sam come up and get you for dinner when it’s ready, okay?” John asked as he ran his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied.

John leaned down and kissed Dean on his forehead. “I love you, kiddo,” John whispered into Dean’s ear, then stood up.

“I love you, too, Dad,” Dean said with a sleepy smile. He watched John smile down at him, then somehow fell asleep between the time John started walking toward the hallway and when the bedroom door closed.

End.


End file.
